There comes a time in life you decide to leave home. For me, that moment came four years ago, I had just turned nineteen. (I knew, I just fucking knew I'm not going back. At least not to stay.) But here we are, four years later. I'm about to leave again. But nothing's the same. Fuck. I've been told not to come back. If I leave. I should go and fuck for money, I ain't for better - she said. She knows I'll leave. And she knows I may never come back. But what she doesn't know is that fucking for money is nothing compared to this life. On the contrary, it is liberation.
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